The Beginning After the End
by hauntedd
Summary: Nathan is forced to protect those closest to him, while Claire reaches out for an unwitting hero when another one of Isaac’s paintings comes true.


Title: The Beginning After the End  
Author: Hauntedd  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine; they belong to Tim Kring & the writers  
Summary: Nathan is forced to protect those closest to him, while Claire reaches out for an unwitting hero when another one of Isaac's paintings comes true.  
Spoilers: Through 2.7; everything else is pure spec

* * *

The sharp buzzing of his cell phone broke Nathan from his thoughts. Matt Parkman had just told him what he'd overheard Mohinder Suresh thinking and he was trying to plot his next move. If only Peter were here, he'd know what to do. 

Except he was in Ireland, and as much as it hurt, there were more pressing matters than finding him again.

Parkman, for his part, at least had the foresight to warn him that they might be bugging Peter's apartment, and was helping him check it out while Molly Walker slept soundly on the spare bed -- they'd gotten her out the second Parkman learned Suresh was no longer an ally. None of them were safe now and the number of people he trusted was shrinking by the day.

Glancing at the display as it flashed Claire's name, Nathan let out a relieved sigh. They hadn't found her yet -- there was still time to get her out of there. Waving to Parkman in an effort to let him know he was stepping out, he flipped the phone open and headed for the door. He didn't want to endanger her unnecessarily.

"Nathan, are you there?" Claire sniffled into the phone, his heart breaking as a sob escaped from her throat.

"Yeah, give me a second," he answered, shutting the door behind him.

"I know you said not to call -- maybe this was a mistake."

"No!" Nathan shouted, furrowing his brow as he raked a hand through his hair. How was he supposed to do this? He couldn't even save himself, let alone his nearly seventeen-year-old daughter. "I'm sorry for everything, Claire. I've done things that I'm not proud of -- just don't hang up the phone."

"Okay," Claire drawled as he leaned back against the windowsill. "Why are you whispering?"

"I was about to call you."

"You were?"

Why did she have to sound so damn skeptical? He had no idea how to respond to her, most of the time. It'd been a long time since he was a teenager, and he was supposed to be her father -- someone that she should be able to come to, someone to trust.

Instead he had tried to prevent Peter from saving her life.

He was a horrible father. But that was going to change -- once he figured out to talk to Claire on the phone.

"Yeah, I have to tell you something. There are people looking for you, bad people. I'm trying to keep you safe, but they know where you are," Nathan sighed, wincing at the way that his words were leaving his mouth. He was talking to her like she was Simon or Monty, not a young woman who had a critical role to play in their survival.

"Don't."

She said it with such finality that it made him tense. What the hell did she mean, don't? She might be immortal, but if he'd learned anything, it was that there were far worse punishments than death.

"I_have_ to," he stressed, hoping that she would understand what he was saying between the lines.

_I need to do right by you._

"My dad... he died trying to protect me," she cried into the phone, and he couldn't help the errant thought of wrongness in how broken she sounded. "His funeral was today. I can't, I thought I would be okay, but... I'm scared Nathan."

"I'll be right there." His answer was immediate. He wasn't good with condolences or moments of profundity, which made him wonder how in the hell he was supposed to have been president five years from now.

He paid people to write his speeches, and even those sounded canned sometimes. Trying to appeal to his estranged daughter's sensitivities was another matter.

"No!" Claire shouted, adamant. They certainly had one thing in common -- they were both stubborn as hell. "Don't. You were right to keep away from me -- Jackie, Peter, my dad, they're dead because of me."

What the hell? She couldn't actually believe that, could she?

_It was the same thing you thought after you drove your family away._

"Claire."

He knew she wasn't listening, her aggravated grunt and another bout of tears only served as a tragic soundtrack to her undeserved guilt.

"Maybe it's a curse -- I can't die so everyone around me does."

"Claire, listen to me," he pleaded, her sobs weighing heavily on his heart. He exhaled, mulling over the many ways to tell her this -- it was another bit of news that affected her, and while he refused to trust the messenger, he believed the message.

"Peter's alive."

"What?"

"He's alive, Claire. Because of _you_," Nathan made sure to draw attention to her role in Peter's survival. She was an amazing young woman -- despite having him for a father, and she had to give herself more credit.

"That's great," she said before admitting, "I miss them."

"I know. I'm not good at this Claire, but I am sorry."

For everything.

"Nathan," she sighed into the phone in such a way that he could tell there was a small smile on her face. "This is the first time -- since it happened, that I feel like it's going to be okay."

"It will be, but you have to go into hiding, now."

"Because of Mohinder and that other guy with the glasses?" Claire snapped, her words laced with venom. "There the ones who..."

He didn't let her finish. He didn't have to, he knew exactly what she was about to say. "I'll **kill** them. Where are you?"

Noah Bennet was never high in his esteem, considering how they'd first met, but he had been the father that he couldn't be, and it was improper to think ill of the dead.

"Costa Verde -- but Lyle and my mom... they need me."

She hadn't left California yet? He was sure that she would be on the run by now. According to his mother's Haitian associate, it had taken Noah all of three days to move them out of Odessa.

But Noah was dead. And Claire was now a sitting duck.

"Claire, I won't send you to Paris, but I can't lose you again," Nathan pleaded, trying to keep his desperation to a minimum. "And I can't let these bastards take you. Ma was right."

"What?"

"She knew what they'd do to you, if they found you. I'm not going to make excuses for her, but she went to great lengths to protect you, protect both of us," Nathan answered, shuddering at the thought of her on an operating table, her golden hair splayed out in contrast to sterile whites of a medical lab.

He'd never forgive his mother for keeping Claire from him, but he'd never forgive himself if he was responsible for that.

"Nathan, why am I so special?"

Because you're perfect, and you're mine.

That wasn't the answer she wanted to hear, he knew that, but it was a much simpler one to give.

"Your blood -- it can cure diseases."

He didn't dare tell her that it also might be able to raise the dead. He would work on that himself -- she was too much like Peter, and if it failed she never would be the same again.

"Then shouldn't I want to help them?" She asked, a renewed sense of purpose flittering through her words.

"No. Absolutely not."

Claire was too earnest and she failed to consider the ill effects of what doing good might bring her. She needed to leverage this gift in such a way as to guarantee her survival. He had enough connections and favors to call in to protect her, but they wouldn't help her if she turned herself in.

The Company was like the mob, once they have you, they own you. He'd lived long enough under the beck and call of Linderman, through his father's associations and his own, to know there was more to life than that.

"But Nathan."

He understood the desperation that lost caused. Between his father, Heidi, Pete, Simon and Monty -- Nathan'd had his fair share. She wasn't thinking clearly, and her time as a teenage superhero was clouding her judgment. He had to convince her that he was right.

Something, he mused, that would be infinitely easier if he hadn't failed her time and time again.

"Claire, they want to _study_ you. you'd never be free to do anything again. No sunlight, and forget college, cheerleading and flying boyfriends."

It was a hail mary pass, a last ditch effort to prove that it was better for her to control her own destiny than to entrust it to the company.

"West. How did you know?"

The little shit's name was **West**? It was bad enough he could fly and his little stunt brought Claire out of hiding, but he had a toolish name too?

He needed to stop. Nathan had to get her out of there, now. Convincing her to add the prefix ex to West's title could wait.

"I'm your father. I care about you."

_I love you._

"Nathan, can my mom and Lyle come too?" Claire asked, her sobs subsiding for a moment and he could just see her biting on her lower lip, raking it between her teeth, unsure what he would say.

It was something Meredith had done a lot before he went off to the Gulf. The first time he'd seen Claire repeat it, when she stepped into the room after Peter's tangle with Sylar, he knew **exactly** who she was.

"I'll make arrangements."

He couldn't very well fly them all himself, but he would book flights, on a plane, for the two of them tomorrow. Claire deserved to be with her whole family, and despite his mother's comments, he knew that meant the Bennets as well as the Petrellis.

"Oh! and Mr. Muggles," Claire rushed and he was stuck wondering who the hell was Mr. Muggles.

"Mr. Muggles?"

"My mom breeds show dogs," she returned, no doubt used to explaining this odd bit of knowledge to people.

"Fine, but I need to get you out of there. Now. You're not safe. They're not going to stop trying until they capture you," Nathan argued, determined to get her to New York tonight.

There was a pause on the end of the line and he scowled into the plastic receiver. He didn't want to argue anymore, he wanted her safe and with him, away from Mohinder and Bob. It would be tight quarters tonight, between Parkman, Molly, Claire and himself, but at least they would all be safe.

"Nathan?"

"Claire?" He returned in kind, expecting bad news to follow.

"Thank you," she breathed and he wasted no time, hanging up the phone in relief before propping open the window and facing the cold March air.


End file.
